


dulcet

by fruitcakes



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Summer, Summer Vacation, very mild angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 12:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10719585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitcakes/pseuds/fruitcakes
Summary: How troublesome, falling in love over the summer.





	dulcet

**Author's Note:**

> A whole lot of gratitude to Sandra aka ao3 user aishiteita, for betaing. Not that I can do much, but I owe you one! ^^ Also a big thank you to soonwoonet, and The Boo Boo Family. You guys are amazing! 
> 
> This story is based off of a short story by Ruskin Bond. 
> 
> Fair warning:
> 
>  
> 
> _dul¦cet_  
>  [ˈdʌlsɪt]
> 
>  
> 
> _ADJECTIVE_  
>  (especially of sound) sweet and soothing (often used ironically)

Staring at the cottony clouds drifting across an endless expanse of blue crepe, Soonyoung fancies himself as Shikamaru. With his body and mind in repose, he decides his goal is to live an unremarkable life, free of anything good or bad, and then die just as unremarkably as he lived. 

But in the very next second, that thought sounds all too daunting. Not to mention, mind-numbingly boring. Compromising, he decides he wants an unremarkable summer. Its rewards are simple—warm sun, soft grass. So that at the end of it, he can rise rejuvenated. 

Pleased by this, he lets the soft waves beneath lull him to sleep. 

The insistent buzz of a bee nearby wakes Soonyoung up from what was perhaps the best nap of his life. He awakes with a jolt and startled, he struggles to sit upright. When the float rocks with the movement, he realises where he is—smack dab in the middle of a river in a place he doesn't know. The panic sets in before he remembers what had transpired hours prior. 

In hindsight, it's not a great idea to get (a little) drunk (at brunch) at your family's vacation house and then lie down on a float to take a nap. Thankfully, he didn't get a sunburn but he's drifted downstream and doesn't have a clue where he is. He frantically looks around. There’re dense woods to his left and the desolate back of a run-down country house to his right, a tall white fence surrounding it. 

Noon has long since passed, the sun well on its way to the west. Soonyoung yawns, and then slowly starts paddling with his arms to reach the house—a safer option than the woods. He'll take ghosts any day over the coyotes. 

The ripples that appear on the clear surface are mesmerising, or it’s the intoxication. Either way, he's transfixed as he slowly pushes at the water. 

"Hey!" 

Soonyoung is so startled he nearly falls off, catching himself in the nick of time. Looking up, he sees someone standing at the fence of the house. It's a young boy, and he's waving at Soonyoung with confusion writ large on his tiny, far-off features. Soonyoung squints and waves back weakly. 

"What are you doing there?" the boy shouts. 

His voice rattles off of the late-afternoon stillness; it's deep. "Finding peace of mind!" Soonyoung shouts back.  A stupid but honest-to-God answer. A faint laugh carries across. Soonyoung is getting closer to the bank and he can make out the amused curl of the boy's mouth. The float sways dangerously as he kneels on it and his stomach curls in on itself. He flails around desperate to catch his balance and not lose his dignity. 

A firm hand clasps around his right arm, and then another closes around his left hand, as he's pulled quickly to the safety of the grassy bank. His dignity intact, Soonyoung looks up and is met with brown eyes that are squinting at the corners with mirth. 

"Hi," he says, the syllable catching on the edge of his mouth. 

"Hello." The boy replies with a smile. A moment later, when he's sure Soonyoung can stand on his own feet, he retracts his hands. "What were you doing in the middle of the river on-" he looks behind Soonyoung's head at the frog cartoons on the monstrosity "a float?" His brows furrow in confusion. 

"I- uh- I..." Soonyoung is fixated on the lack of space between them. "I fell asleep." He omits the getting drunk part. 

The boy hums in response. "An odd place to take a nap but-" he looks down at Soonyoung, another disarming smile at hand. "to each their own." 

The little jibe makes Soonyoung blush. He nods weakly. 

"Are you from here? I've never seen you around," he says, toying with the sleeves of his striped t-shirt. It hangs loosely on his gangly frame and his jeans sit low on his hips. 

"No. I'm visiting." Soonyoung points at the direction he thinks the house is in. "My family has a vacation home here." 

"Ah." The boy nods in understanding. "What's your name?" 

For a brief second, Soonyoung wonders why he's asking, why they're making conversation in the middle of a grassy plain. But then he thinks, this is probably what small-town people do. 

"Kwon Soonyoung." He spells it out and smiles. 

"Nice to meet you, Soonyoung. I'm Wonwoo." The boy extends his hand. Soonyoung takes it and firmly shakes it. The grip is strong as it was on his arms, but this time he feels the callouses on the soft of his palms. 

"Wait." Wonwoo tilts his head, and furrows his brows. "Did you say Kwon?" 

Soonyoung nods. 

"Oh! What a coincidence!" 

And a mighty fine coincidence it was. When Soonyoung and his family are in the city, Wonwoo and his dad take care of the house so it doesn't rot, Soonyoung learns, as Wonwoo walks him home. This, and the fact that they're the same age. 

"Your parents visit every year but I've never seen you," Wonwoo says, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his baggy jeans. 

"Oh, I always stayed in the city because of school and stuff."  _ Because I hate coming out here, it's boring _ . "But school’s over now, so..."  _ I ran out of excuses and had to succumb.  _

Wonwoo nods, takes long strides as they walk along the narrow road. They arrive shortly at the front gate of the house, the red brick front threatening him with boredom. "This is it," Soonyoung sighs. 

Wonwoo nods. "I'll bring the float by later." 

Soonyoung had forgotten about the cursed thing. "See you around," he says. 

"Oh, you will." With a casual wave and grin thrown his way, Wonwoo leaves. Soonyoung is left flustered and confused. 

"How troublesome," he says, all hopes of an uneventful summer dashed by firm hands and a charming smile. 

~

His parents don’t question where he went that afternoon. It seems, some things are the same as the city. 

Later that evening, as he’s chugging iced tea straight from the pitcher, he sees Wonwoo rowing the float upstream. He waves, but doesn’t have the foresight to put the pitcher down, and splashes iced tea everywhere. 

It seems, most things are the same as the city. 

Wonwoo laughs, as he sees the grimace on Soonyoung’s face. He’s squinting against the glare of the sun, and his hair is pushed back, showing his forehead. 

“Wonwoo?” Soonyoung hears his mom calling from inside the house. The screen door opens and she steps out on the patio. 

“Hello, Mrs. Kwon,” Wonwoo replies cheerfully, as he pulls the float onto the bank. “Hello, Soonyoung.” 

He nods. “Oh, you’ve already met Soonyoung!” his mom squeals. He decides to tune the rest of the conversation out. It’s always a pain to hear his mother attempting to converse with a teenager—the dictionary definition of a try-hard. 

“You should stay for dinner, then!” At this, he snaps back to attention. 

Wonwoo hesitates, his eyes flit to Soonyoung as if asking permission. “Yeah, you should stay,” Soonyoung replies. Eventually, Wonwoo relents and comes inside. 

As he leads Wonwoo up the stairs to his room (“Show him around, Soonie!”) Soonyoung decides it's as good a time as any, to notice how handsome Wonwoo is. Within the narrow confines of his room, Soonyoung feels a little nervous. 

“You play?” Wonwoo asks, pointing at the acoustic guitar propped up against the wall in the corner of the room. 

“No. I used to when I was younger.” Soonyoung fiddles with the blue ribbon tied at the base of the headstock. It's just a decoration now. “Do you?” he asks. 

Wonwoo nods, his eyes roaming around the bare walls. There isn't anything to see except for one, lonely Abbey Road poster. 

“Play something for me?” 

As a rule, people who play guitar are attractive. So is Wonwoo. He holds the guitar with poise, as he tunes it. Soonyoung sits on a beanbag across him, and twiddles his thumbs. He thinks he wants to be friends with Wonwoo so he hopes he doesn't play Wonderwall. Wonwoo clears his throat and then begins to play, singing softly.

“ I must've stumbled out of the plane

'Cause I free-fell all year

My chute is blooming out like spring

And I'm nowhere now, but here …”

It's not a song Soonyoung knows, but he's entranced by the way Wonwoo’s voice goes round and round in bands, thrumming in his chest. The lyrics are something sweet, honeyed by the gentle smile that rests on Wonwoo's lips as he finishes the song. 

A heavy silence hangs in the air, oppressive in the way Soonyoung forgets to breathe. “You play really well,” he says at long last. 

Wonwoo chuckles. “Thank you.” He turns his eyes down again, ears glowing a faint red from the compliment. 

“Sing another one.” 

“Okay.” Wonwoo takes a deep breath. 

“I ripped my jeans

Man I ripped my jeans.” 

They both burst out laughing at the same note. 

~ 

Dinner goes by without a hitch. His mom doesn't ask why Wonwoo was bringing their float around, so Soonyoung counts that as a win. He notes Wonwoo has a good appetite and is strangely satisfied with that information. 

“I had a great time.” 

“Yeah, my parents are  _ real _ fun.” Soonyoung says with a blank face, as he walks Wonwoo out. 

Wonwoo snickers. “They really are.” 

Soonyoung grins. 

“I'll be going now.” Wonwoo says, but stays in place. There's innocent expectation in his eyes and Soonyoung isn't foolish enough to disregard it. 

“Can I have your number?” 

Wonwoo's face lights up. He digs out a pen and starts to write his number on Soonyoung's palm. Except it doesn't work because they're clammy with sweat. He chuckles nervously and pulls the hem of his sleeve up to show his wrist. 

Wonwoo holds his arm steady with one hand and scribbles with the other. 

“Text me if you're bored. We can hang out.” 

“You should teach me to play the guitar.” Soonyoung stares at the digits, counts them to make sure they're all there. 

Wonwoo smiles. “I should.” He turns around and strolls away. 

The sky is shot with gold, maroon, violets and dazzling silver. Standing near the wrought iron gate of the house, Soonyoung watches the luminous colours of the west, chase the silent shadows to the very last. 

~ 

Three days later, Minghao barges into his room. Soonyoung is, to say the least, over the moon and takes it upon him to hug the life out of the spindly boy. Patting his back, Minghao is awkward as ever and Soonyoung feels happy knowing he's still the same silly boy he befriended years ago. 

They have a whole lot to catch up on, and spend the entire afternoon sprawled on the bed, talking about anything and everything that went on in their lives while they were estranged. It's like they were never apart. 

They met seven years ago when Soonyoung came here for a week, and Minghao happened to be visiting (being forced to visit) too. They became friends and, although they lived far apart in the city, they kept it that way. 

“So, how do you like it here so far?” Minghao asks, his voice following Soonyoung as he gets off the bed. 

He gives a non-committal shrug in answer, choosing to focus on the task at hand. Soonyoung carefully holds the bunting he had bought at a little store, against the wall. 

“I'm gonna get straight to the point. Your ma said you're sweet on some Wonpil guy and told me to ask you.” 

_ Oh, she did not just. _ Soonyoung spins around on his heels and sputters indignantly. “It's Wonwoo! And I'm  _ not _ sweet on him.” He thinks he's excellent at lying through his teeth. 

But Minghao sees straight through him. He rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” 

Relieved by the casual dismissal, Soonyoung carefully begins to tape the string of the bunting up. It's turquoise and yellow, and looks brilliant against the pale blue of his room. 

His phone pings in the distance. 

“Well well well, look what we have here. A text from the Wonpil guy.” 

“It's Wonwoo!” Soonyoung exclaims, turning around. He stops short when he sees Minghao scrolling through this phone. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Your friend finding about your crush three days into it, sure is desperate. So Soonyoung launches himself at the boy, but Minghao is laughing and pulling the phone out of reach. “You really are sweet on him!” he says, through fits of giggles. 

“I'm not!” Soonyoung is sure he's fire engine red by now. 

“Oh, you do like him. And by the looks of it, he does too.” 

Soonyoung stills. “Do you think so?” he asks tentatively. 

Minghao starts laughing again. “You're red as a tomato,” he teases and tugs on Soonyoung's hair to stop him from crushing him to death. “But to answer your question, yes I think he does.” 

At the very thought of Wonwoo liking him back, cochineal rushes to Soonyoung cheeks. The little brook in his heart, where blushing flowers blow, now has a place to go. 

~ 

The skies can't keep their secrets, they tell them to the hills. Minghao can't keep his secrets either, he tells Soonyoung’s mother. She already had a hunch, but once it was confirmed, she took it upon herself to be Cupid in this little tale. 

On a fine Saturday morning, she hands Soonyoung a dish of fruit pudding and sends him off to Wonwoo’s house. “Be a good boy, and hurry along. No need to rush back! Take your time,” she tells him as she slams the screen door shut behind him. 

He sighs heavily but trudges along and finds his way to the country house. It's still as run-down as he remembers, except it looks welcoming now that he knows who lives in there. Even though he's spent the better part of the past week texting Wonwoo, he feels his stomach flip at the prospect of seeing him again. 

He rings the bell with his elbow. 

Wonwoo opens the door. Soonyoung nearly drops the ceramic bowl on the front step because Wonwoo, with his pink t-shirt and black shorts, is nothing short of adorable. He has to exercise serious self control, to stop himself from squeaking. 

“Good morning, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo greets, the corners of his lips turned up in a warm smile. A nervous drop of sweat trickles down Soonyoung's back as he steadies himself. 

“G’morning.” His answer is garbled but it'll do. “My mother has sent pudding.” He thrusts the bowl forward and decides it’s best to hightail it from there, as soon as possible. 

“Oh!” Wonwoo exclaims and takes the offering. “Thank you. That's very nice of her.” 

It's just formality, both of them are aware. Yet it seems necessary, given that they've not known each other too long. 

“Do you wanna come inside?” Wonwoo asks, with a curious lilt to his voice. 

And what would Soonyoung be if he declined? A fool, so he takes up the invitation. Wonwoo shows him around the house—it's large and airy with a whole lot of windows that let the fresh morning sunlight stream in. Finally, he takes him up to his bedroom. Just like the rest of the house, it's airy and bright, the walls a warm, pale ochre. Family pictures hang right alongside band posters. If his room is any indication of his personality, Soonyoung thinks he’ll fall for Wonwoo easy as pie. 

They sit cross-legged on the bed, side by side and talk about school, movies, music. They discuss the countable books that Soonyoung has read as opposed to the multitude that Wonwoo has consumed. Despite all their differences, they meet somewhere in the middle where they share the conviction to  _ learn _ and be better people. 

Wonwoo's guitar is a deep maroon colour and looks much sleeker than Soonyoung’s cheaper instrument. He tells him it belonged to his dad as they sit on the grass in the backyard. 

“Sing me another song!” he pleads, clutching Wonwoo’s shoulder and wearing an expression he hopes looks cute. Wonwoo chuckles and acquiesces. 

“Cradle me, 

I'll cradle you.” 

He plucks each note precisely, the sound clear and crisp, complemented by the soft, deep murmur of Wonwoo's song. 

“I'll win your heart with a whoop-a-woo.” 

Soonyoung's heart is beating hard and fast, with the birds bearing orchestra to the insistent drumming. 

“Pulling shapes just for your eyes.” Wonwoo's profile is striking, and Soonyoung is caught up in the way his lips curl around every word. 

The song teeters into silence. Wonwoo exhales softly and looks up. There isn't much to be said, as he tilts his head and leans forward to meet Soonyoung halfway. 

Soonyoung wishes someone had taught him patience is virtue. 

He rushes in too quick and the headstock hits him in the stomach, punching the air out of him. Even through blinding pain, he laughs along with Wonwoo.  _ This is ridiculous _ , he thinks as he clutches his stomach. 

When he looks at Wonwoo, he sees the boy isn't laughing anymore. There's a hint of sadness in his eyes and disappointment in the set of his lips, at the unfortunate end of a perfect moment. Soonyoung leans in much more carefully this time, and places a little kiss on the corner of his mouth. It's not much—just a promise for more. The winds rustle the leaves of the elm trees in a phraseless melody. The sun has wooed the morning. 

~ 

Dawn comes far too early in the summer. The jarring rays bleed in through the diaphanous curtains of the room, falling on Soonyoung's closed eyes and waking him up in a manner befitting of June. 

Bleary eyed and cotton-mouthed, he descends the stairs. Just as he's about to go to the kitchen, he hears noises in the backyard. So he retraces his steps and walks out onto the patio. 

Wonwoo is bent over, tending to the flower beds lining the short wooden fence. He has faint smears of mud on his cheeks and sweat beading near his temples. 

“Morning,” Soonyoung greets. Cicadas nearly drown his voice out. 

“Good morning!” Wonwoo replies cheerily when he turns around. There's a little surprise in his eyes, which then tapers into glee. How someone can be so happy this early in the morning, is a mystery to Soonyoung, who's never fully coherent before noon.. 

Wonwoo asks him if he slept alright, while watering the bushes which are yet to bloom. Soonyoung then remembers to feel a little embarrassed about his Hello Kitty pyjamas and garishly orange flip-flops. 

“Do you want to go swimming today?” Wonwoo asks, taking off his gardening gloves. Sweat is running in droves down the planes of his neck and and his shirt is soaked. All of this, and he's still offensively attractive. 

“In the river?” Soonyoung squints at the heavy current in the stream. 

“Oh, no. I know a secret spot.” 

The secret spot lies deep in the woods. It's a large pool of cool water, dark for the most part except the places where sunlight falling through the trees pierces it. A small waterfall gushes at one end and huge rocks line the other. It’s a little corner of peace, tucked away just for them. 

The afternoon is whiled away, whirring the lethargic waters of the pool in lazy circles. 

“So,” Wonwoo begins. He's sitting by the edge of the pool on a rock. “You never told me how you ended up near my house on a float.” 

Soonyoung is leisurely doing the backstroke. “You never asked.” 

Wonwoo shrugs as if to say ‘fair enough’. “I'm asking now.” 

“I may have been a little drunk.” Soonyoung uprights himself. 

Wonwoo's face is blank. “It was the middle of the day. What the hell did you get drunk on?” 

“One too many mimosas,” Soonyoung sighs wistfully. 

This makes Wonwoo chuckle and he lands backs into the pool with a splash. “That's something only you could do.” 

“Well, I had to alleviate my boredom somehow. I hated this place.” 

Wonwoo paddles closer. “Yeah? What's changed now?” 

They're chest-deep in the water and unconsciously swimming closer. “I’m not sure,” Soonyoung replies. 

They're close enough now that the ripples formed by their bodies merge into each other. “Let’s find out,” Wonwoo whispers. The leaves of the trees overhanging the stream cast purple shadows that fritter away the time on the gold of Wonwoo's skin, like peacock feathers. 

The kiss lands perfectly this time by some miracle. It's still at first before their lips stir like the wings of a dreamy butterfly—tentative—Soonyoung's heart does all the fluttering. It's tough to keep his head above the water, when the sheer amount of sweetness Wonwoo pours into the kiss threatens to take him under. The stream’s murmur drowns out the little smack as they part. 

“I think I know now.” 

~ 

“Tell me a story,” Soonyoung says as they're walking along the meadows one evening. Sunset is rushing by and twilight is fast approaching. After hours of pleading, he had finally coaxed Wonwoo away from his books. 

He laughs now. “How can I tell you a story?” 

“You read so many books. Surely, you've got one story to tell.” 

He smiles and looks at their footsteps as they fall in sync. Their knuckles brush with every step. “That's fair.” 

The day erased, Wonwoo tells him a story; a story about the forest that loved the winter. 

“That’s a sad story,” Soonyoung comments as they settle beneath the veil of elm leaves in Wonwoo's backyard. 

Wonwoo shrugs. “I like sad stories.” 

“You should stay over tonight. The weather is nice. We can sleep on the roof,” Wonwoo suggests. There isn't a decent way of saying ‘thank you, I have wanted that so badly for the past three weeks’ so Soonyoung opts to simply nod and smile. 

At night, the stars stand as thick as bees do during the day. From a little room on the roof, Wonwoo drags out a folding cot and sets it up with pillows and a thin cotton sheet that billows in the wind. 

Wonwoo takes off his shirt before they lie down. When Soonyoung raises an eyebrow, he gets flustered and hurriedly explains it’s a habit. Soonyoung snickers. 

“It's okay. I don't mind,” he tells him. “You look good.” It's July and Soonyoung has run out of excuses to be coy. 

Wonwoo never runs out of things to talks about. Even when Soonyoung falls silent, he talks. In his soliloquy, he ponders the themes he loves best—night, sleep, and the stars. 

Somewhere beyond midnight, Soonyoung hugs him, buries his face in his chest and feels his lashes brush against skin. “Wonwoo,” he calls. He feels the hum against his lips. “You're my tan-faced prairie-boy.” 

“What?” The chuckle Wonwoo lets loose is confused. 

“Tan-faced prairie-boy,” Soonyoung repeats. He knows that Wonwoo reads only prose, that he will not understand where Soonyoung is coming from. Yet he says it, for some things are done for their own sake. 

~ 

“So these are called frets,” Wonwoo explains slowly as if talking to a child of ten. 

“Dude, I know what frets are. Get to the actual teaching part!” Soonyoung whines and hits the pillow for good measure. It's afternoon and the middle of July. In other words, too hot to even think about stepping out. 

“Geez,” Wonwoo sneers. “Aren't you eager.” 

“I am.” 

With godly patience, Wonwoo teaches him to play  _ do-re-mi _ . Every time he takes Soonyoung's pudgy fingers and places them on the correct fret, he does so gently. For his part, Soonyoung does his best. He pays attention to things apart from the brush of Wonwoo's calloused fingertips against his knuckles, apart from the brush of warm breath against his chin when he leans in too close. 

“Now play it all together,” Wonwoo instructs. 

Soonyoung takes a small, shallow breath and strikes the first note. He presses the pads of his fingers exactly where they need to be, and picks in time. 

“Uh, Soonyoung-” Wonwoo interrupts. 

Soonyoung looks up in surprise. He was so sure he was doing everything right. 

“You have some-” he points vaguely at his chin and then at Soonyoung's.

Touching his own chin, and looking at the guitar, tells Soonyoung he's drooling. A lot. Enough that it's pooled in the little curve on the side of the guitar. He looks flustered and awkward, blundering like a fool to wipe it off but there's too much and no, please don't ruin Wonwoo's dad’s guitar. It'd be a travesty. 

Then he feels the soft press of fuzzy cotton against his chin and mouth. Wonwoo pries the guitar out of his hands, sets it aside and then wipes the drool off his face with the hem of his sleeve. He's careful, and the farthest thing from disgusted. There's amusement in his eyes as he says, “You didn't have to concentrate this hard.” 

The humour is lost on Soonyoung, who's neck-deep in his mortification. He swallows once, twice, thrice till he's got a hold on himself and Wonwoo has let go off the hold on the side of his face. “Sorry about the guitar,” he says. 

Wonwoo chuckles. “S’alright.” 

Soonyoung hangs his head. “I'm really embarrassed,” he squeaks and hides his face in his palms. They hurt from playing the guitar. 

“Hey, it's okay,” Wonwoo croons and tugs at Soonyoung's wrists. “It was cute.” 

On the bushes in the backyard of the vacation home, there are flowers blooming in every colour imaginable—scarlet, magenta, violet, orange—every colour except yellow. This evening, there's a single yellow bud sitting atop its world of green. 

Prodigal with everything else, Wonwoo affords his kisses in that very manner—scant and selective. He chooses to plant one on Soonyoung's lips at this moment. Carefully pulling him closer till their knees are bumping and arms are tangling like vines, he kisses him once more. 

~ 

One morning at the far end of July, Soonyoung bounds up the stairs to Wonwoo's room, jumping with excitement. He pushes the door open with no preface, and expects to see him sprawled on the bed, nose in a book, or fast asleep. That day, though, he's sitting at his desk, looking at his laptop with his back facing Soonyoung. 

He turns around when the door hits the wall with a clatter. “Oh, hi,” he says, slinging an arm around the back of the chair. Behind him, on the screen, a boy looks on in confusion. 

“I guess I'll talk to you later?” the face on the screen says, voice cracking through the speakers. 

Wonwoo spins around. “Yeah! I'll call you tomorrow.” With that, he closes the laptop. 

“Who was that?” Soonyoung asks. 

It's Seungcheol; a friend who moved to Canada last year. A friend who used to and maybe still does, have a massive crush on Wonwoo, Minghao tells him that evening. He found out from his friend Seungkwan who works at the hardware store. Like the unwelcome tang of a bitter cucumber, Soonyoung feels something he thought he'd long since grown out of—jealousy. Seungcheol is good-looking, in a flashy sort of way. The kind that all the girls at school loved, and maybe Wonwoo does too. 

The long shadow that trails behind Soonyoung as he walks to the country house at sunset, is a metaphor for presentiment, harbinger of insecurity, usherer to the deep end. 

“Does Seungcheol like you?” Certain situations call for bluntness. This is one of them. Soonyoung's nerves are thrumming with anxiety, and Wonwoo's fingers softly brushing his, can only do so much. 

“Who told you about that?” Wonwoo says it as if he was expecting the question. 

“Your friend, Seungkwan did.” Subtly, Soonyoung draws his hand back and places it on his stomach. There's some logic, he thinks, in closing himself off if this goes badly. “Do you like him too?” 

Up until that moment, Soonyoung was so sure that what he has with Wonwoo is just a bit of harmless fun—a summer fling in essence. But as he waits with bated breath for Wonwoo's answer, he begins to realise that isn’t the case. Gauging the depth of his fall seems like a lost cause. 

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo calls softly. He shuffles closer on the cot. “I don't. I never did.” The conviction lacing his words is unmistakable. 

The first drop falls on Soonyoung's cheek, another disappears into Wonwoo's hair and the rest fall like a curtain upon the still landscape. 

They clamber off the cot and rush into the little room on the roof. 

Despite the tackiness, Wonwoo carefully eases the knots in Soonyoung's heart with 

tender fingers. Drawing a line from one shoulder to the other, he plants a string of kisses. It feels too sweet to be compensation, too generous to be anything else. Soonyoung simply places the tips of his fingers on Wonwoo's heart—at the spot where the sun has sunken in so deep that it is perpetually warm. 

The first summer shower falls in sheets outside, cloaking everything in dew and hope. 

~ 

One afternoon, Wonwoo is sitting on the porch of his house, staring out at the river and gorging on a very sweet watermelon. Soonyoung's feet stomp against the wood as he stalks towards him. 

“You never told me you got into the same university as me?” 

Wonwoo looks like a deer caught in the headlights, except stupider because he has juice running down his chin, cheeks stuffed with fruit, fingers sticky and one tiny piece of watermelon stuck to the corner of his mouth. Soonyoung would have thought time had stopped if he didn't see Wonwoo's tongue flick out to lick that piece into his mouth. He swallows thickly, the pale red trail of juice now running down his neck. 

Soonyoung says, “I had to hear from my mother.” Who heard it from Mrs. Kim, who heard it from Mr. Bryn, who heard it from someone else. He was miffed, to say the least. 

Wonwoo, that slow idiot, finally catches up and frames a couple words. “I meant to.” 

He didn't. Soonyoung knows the fib from the way the sentence dips at the end. He scoffs but it's more hurt than sass. “Why didn't you tell me?” All the tones are mutated—this one sounds more desperate than demanding. 

Wonwoo wipes his chin with the end of his sleeve and says, “It wasn't my plan to go there, initially.” He's looking intently at the seeds sticking to his palms. “But then I changed my mind.” 

“That's a good thing, though?” Soonyoung asks, confusion evident in the way he leans on one leg and furrows his brows. 

Wonwoo is pointedly avoiding making eye-contact. He continues, “I didn't like the reason why.” 

It should have made perfect sense by then. But the heat has slowed Soonyoung down considerably so he snaps, “And what's the reason?” 

“You.” The lone, isolated word is a thunder-clap to Soonyoung. “You're clouding my judgement.” 

The statement is very obviously backhanded but Soonyoung can't help the way it makes him feel—giddy and too self important for his own good. It's some reassurance, that he's not the only one being a fool this season, that he's not out there by his lonesome on a float in the middle of the river. 

He crouches down next to Wonwoo, pries his fingers open to let the crushed watermelon fall back into the bowl, and circles his around Wonwoo’s wrist. 

“You'll figure it out,” he says as gently as he can.  _ My heart feels like a yo-yo _ , he doesn't say. 

~ 

On the first Saturday of August each year, by a long standing tradition, there's a fair. From what Soonyoung gathers, it's as generic as small-town summer fairs get—food stalls, games, little shops, the works. But everyone is absolutely ecstatic about the the idea of going—including Wonwoo, excluding Soonyoung. 

“Why don't you wanna go?” Wonwoo whines, tugs on the edge of Soonyoung's sleeve. Of all the things that they could have differing opinions on, this one just had to be it. 

Soonyoung exhales and looks at the ceiling. “Because it sounds boring!” 

He's carefully putting glue tacks on the back of polaroids to stick them on the wall, beneath the bunting. Some of them are of nature (one of a black and white spotted cow that's so life-like you can almost see it ruminating) but most are of Wonwoo, and Wonwoo and him. Figures. After all, he's spent most days with him. 

“It's fun!” Wonwoo exclaims and sits up on his knees. “There's good food, silly carnival games and little puppet shows!” The lights in his eyes are strongly convincing. He never expected Wonwoo to be so excited about a small fair, but here he is, jumping up and down at the prospect of winning a couple plushies and eating bad popcorn. 

Beside the picture of the cow, he places one of Wonwoo asleep on the grass. 

“That does sound fun but I’d still rather not go.” 

The bed creaks as Wonwoo climbs off it and walks forward. “Why not?” he asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. 

“Because, I don't know.” It's true, he doesn't have a reason for not going except he doesn't feel like it. Spoilt child he is, Soonyoung thinks that's a perfectly good explanation. 

Wonwoo stands shoulder to shoulder with him and takes one of the glue tacks to put on a Polaroid. He's pouting as he says, “But everyone brings dates. All the boys bring the girls, or boys they like. I've never taken anyone.” 

It's worrying how quickly Soonyoung's resolve crumbles to nothing and how little time it takes for his heart to melt to goo when Wonwoo says that. How troublesome, falling in love over the summer. 

“Okay,” he says. 

Wonwoo peels off the backing and sticks the Polaroid in the middle of the collage. It's one of Soonyoung with a flimsy flower crown that Wonwoo wove for him. July the 3rd, it says along the border. He has moony eyes because he's looking behind the camera, where Wonwoo is. 

~ 

Soonyoung spends fifteen minutes on Friday night finding something decent to wear. Initially, the plan for the summer was to spend maximum number of hours holed up in his room, napping, and biding the time. So all he has are variations of cotton pyjamas and ratty cotton t-shirts. For the most part, it didn't matter. 

Except now, he has a date—his first with Wonwoo. The prospect is daunting, he feels a certain need to make a good impression, even though Wonwoo has already seen him at his worst (eating a whole bar of melted chocolate all by himself, shirtless, on the balcony).  

Eventually, he settles on a light denim shirt and dark jeans. 

At exactly thirty minutes past 5, Wonwoo rings the doorbell. Soonyoung has been waiting in the foyer for fifteen minutes now, pacing end-to-end in the hallway. Not eager to give that fact away, he counts five beats before opening the door. 

All the times he's seen Wonwoo, it doesn't hold a candle to how gorgeous he looks at that moment. Standing at the threshold, dressed in a white button-up and black jeans, he smiles at Soonyoung. “Hello.” There are animal outlines on Wonwoo's shirt. All of his nerves melt away at the sight of it. 

Soonyoung can't help the smile that tugs at his lips. “Hi.” 

Wonwoo blushes a little, as he extends his hand. There's a single flower there. “I know it's silly but I found it and I th-” 

Soonyoung cuts him off. “It's pretty. Thank you,” he says. He accepts the daisy and leaves it on the dresser near the door, before they head out. 

~

“You should give that to me,” Soonyoung points at the stuffed tiger clutched in Wonwoo’s hand. 

Wonwoo snorts. “Why?” 

“Because I'm your date! You should treat me well!” 

Wonwoo makes a sound of disbelief. “I should be nice to you? Why because you ganged up on me with all the kids on the bouncy castle?” 

“Hey!” Soonyoung points a finger at Wonwoo's nose. “That was all the Chan kid’s doing.” 

“Right,” Wonwoo scoffs. “You slapped my stomach though, it hurt! Buy me cola as compensation.” 

Cola for punitive damages is a decent deal, so Soonyoung buys it. And then the tub of popcorn, and then the hot dogs too. 

“You asked me out but I'm paying for everything,” he whines when he pays yet again, this time for the cotton candy. Wonwoo grins cheekily and shrugs. 

The dusk draws in earlier than it used to back in June. When the sun has set and the sky is turning indigo, they begin their walk home. 

Wonwoo says, “My stomach is aching. I think I ate too much.” He rubs his tummy with the hand that isn't holding the tiger toy. Soonyoung laughs in response. It was a long evening, filled with plenty of jibes and laughter. It's the perfect end to a great summer. 

With almost everyone still having fun at the fair, the streets are pretty empty. The streetlights on Main Street are outshined by the strings of fairy lights hanging from the poles—golden and glowing and pretty. 

“I had fun,” Soonyoung says. 

Wonwoo perks up. “See? I told you it'd be great!” 

He thinks it was about the date. Soonyoung doesn't have the heart to correct him. The vacation home comes into view as they turn a corner. They make a circuit around it and head to the backyard. 

“Where'd the time go,” Soonyoung says and punctuates it with a plaintive sigh. 

Wonwoo, as if he has the all the wisdom in the world, says, “It’s not time that's passing by, my friend. It's you and I.” For all the times he has made fun of Wonwoo for saying such cheesy lines, quotes from books that have no place in real life, he can't find it in him to argue with this one. 

“Here,” Wonwoo says, handing him the tiger toy. The fur is soft, which is unusual for the toys you win at such games. 

“Thank you.”  _ For a nice evening, for the rest of it too.  _

In front of the river, on the patio, against the wall, Wonwoo kisses him. He kisses him like he never has before, with lips that rival the heat of noon, and emotion that, it seems, he keeps locked in a trunk for moments like these. 

Soonyoung's heart is hammering so wildly, he almost feels bad for the wall bearing the brunt of it. Almost, because every press of Wonwoo's lips against his is a soft refrain of warmth. He rucks up the side of the denim shirt, and curls his fingers around the soft skin of Soonyoung’s waist. 

Time might be passing by, but when Wonwoo touches him like this, everything seems to still—the swaying of branches, the gushing of the river, the wings of his soaring heart. 

~

As Soonyoung climbs the stairs to his room, he feels lethargic, like the life’s been drained out of him. It has been a grand total of 3 minutes since Wonwoo left, and he already misses him. That thought by itself is unsettling enough to keep him up till midnight. At one am, he texts Wonwoo. At seven am, he books a train ticket. At ten am, he is packing his stuff when Wonwoo flings the door of his room open. Talk about impulsive. 

A silent staring contest ensues—Wonwoo panting like he ran a mile, Soonyoung bug-eyed with rolled up boxers in both hands and a suitcase at his feet. He gives in first, lowers his eyes and traces the lines in the hardwood flooring. 

“What are you doing?” Wonwoo asks, knowing well enough it's a redundant question. 

“I'm packing.” A pointless answer. “I'm going home.” 

Soonyoung's voice is not as steady as he thought it was; it frays at the edges. 

Wonwoo's mouth is turned down and his shoulders slumped.  _ Don't look so defeated _ , Soonyoung pleads wordlessly. 

“You can't leave yet,” he says and takes one hesitant step forward before he thinks better of it and stays put. He licks his lips. 

Soonyoung drops the boxers into the suitcase and says, “I can. And I'm going to.” He expected anger and annoyance, not pleas and desperation. He picks up a stack of t-shirts and places those next to all his clothes. 

“But there's still twenty days of your vacation left!” Wonwoo argues, his hand wrapping around the bed post. 

“I leave now, I leave three weeks later. It's the same thing.” Sighing, Soonyoung threads his hands through his hair.  _ This is stupid and unnecessary _ , he thinks. “Look, the eventual conclusion here is I go back to the city,” he explains softly. “If I go now, it's for the best.” 

Wonwoo bites his lips and finally moves towards Soonyoung. With a hairs breadth of distance between them, he can see the confusion in Wonwoo's eyes. What Wonwoo sees in his own, he doesn't know. “Soonyoung, don't go.” 

Separations cannot be of any significance to boys of seventeen who live only for today, tomorrow and—if they're very serious—the day after. Yet here Wonwoo is, looking like his heart is about to break. 

“What's the point, Wonwoo?” Soonyoung asks and turns away to look at the polaroids on the wall—torn between taking them along, and leaving them here as a promise to return next year. 

“The point,” Wonwoo says, grabbing Soonyoung's forearm and spinning him around. “That point is th-

“If you say something emo, I'll punch you,” Soonyoung warns. 

“-at there is no point.” 

Soonyoung groans and just as he promised, punches Wonwoo in the stomach. He cries and doubles over, obviously acting up for comic relief. 

Then they're laughing but the suitcase is still open and staring at them, begging to be addressed.

“I just want you to stay,” Wonwoo says with a smile, a smile that says he knows he has Soonyoung where he wants him. But give Wonwoo an inch, he runs a mile. “I can't just let you float in here on your stupid frog float, steal my heart and then just disappear. That's not fair, is it?” 

“God, you're extra.” Soonyoung smacks Wonwoo's shoulder. He giggles in response and wraps his arms around Soonyoung’s waist. 

“I don't know how I got by all these summers without you.” Wonwoo says. And while the previous statement might have been an exaggeration, this one is honest. “Why did you never come with your parents?” 

It sure is a pity. But it's the hand they've been dealt with. They haven't had years to get to know each other but they can make the most of three weeks. 

And they do. Between naps and gardening chores, they spend all their time together getting to know each other and making as many memories as they possibly can. 

Seventeen is a dangerous age for dreamers—it's when you think you are only half the person you could be, and you believe you can do anything at all. For their part, Soonyoung and Wonwoo believe they can save this little thing they have from the frigid winds of winter, and the yawning distance. 

Near the end, the summer lapses away so imperceptibly that it seems like perfidy. 

Soonyoung returns to the city. Wonwoo eventually decides to go to a different university. In September, they both struggle to keep up with the rushed new pace of life, Wonwoo more so than Soonyoung. But on the other side of the autumnal equinox, they find a balance as their hearts settle in the moment. 

When the days get chilly in November, and the frost overtakes the green in December, Soonyoung takes out  _ The Adventures of Tom Sawyer _ from his bookshelf and flips through it till the daisy falls out—the one that Wonwoo gave him on their first date and which he then carefully pressed between the pages of his favourite book. 

The daisy leads him back to the place where summer strives, some old fortress on the sun where Wonwoo lives. 

_ You came taciturn with nothing to give- we but look’d on each other  _

_ When lo! more than all the gifts of the world you gave me. _

— _ O tan-faced prairie-boy _ by Walt Whitman

**Author's Note:**

> TLDR; they meet, they sweet. 
> 
> A lot of the imagery came from poems by Emily Dickinson. Good stuff to read in the summer. 
> 
> The story Wonwoo tells Soonyoung is [this one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9195311)
> 
> Here are the songs Wonwoo sings:  
> Quesadilla by Walk the Moon  
> Jeans by Breandon Urie  
> Toothpaste Kisses by The Maccabees
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope this summer is good to you all.


End file.
